Weird and Bizaare Tales: Tale One
by DW-chan
Summary: An innocently concocted wish done by Gon accidentally comes true... leaving the rest of his friends to undergo a series of uncanny incidents.


*HxH Disclaimer*  
  
Weird and Bizaare Tales by: DW-chan  
  
*FIRST TALE* Fishy-fish Fish  
  
  
  
"I wish I were a fish," Gon decided one day, feeling his head itch. The hut he and his friends had momentarily resided in quivered in the immense heat. Sun-waves danced upon sea-waves, and everyone felt sticky and miserable. In the isolated islands of Somewhere On The Map (the name was too complicated to pronounce in one sanely distributed breath-intake) where the four had planned to conduct an inventory of rare plant and animal species of that particularly hostile area, there were inhabitants who possessed nonchalance towards the affairs of the civilized world and did not give due credit to the hunter license cards and their holders. So for a considerable span of time, there would be farewell bids to the classic comforts of both country and city life (for the lack of the yearned top class establishments). There were a whole lot of things to consider: drinking water supply, bath water supply, good hunting days, bad hunting days, the erratic tropical weather, the potentially dangerous beasts lurking in the forest outskirts, mosquitoes, malaria, and not to mention the native superstitions of that place. The list went on. Not all hunters lived like dons.  
  
In the meantime, the problem faced by the four downtrodden hunters was: the absence of bath water. Rain had not touched the islands' grounds for two straight weeks. Bathing in the rivers and the sea left a very unpleasant after-feel. The river stones were mossy and the water reeked of crickets and serpents basking under the thick shades of enormous plants. One would have to risk his life very much for a solitary bath. The sea was very rich in sodium chloride content that the moment you stepped out of the water and let the sun hit your skin, flakes of salt would instantly appear, dry up, and cling to your pores. Jellyfish and sharks were unrelenting as well, once you have forgotten the safety of the shallow shores. The hunter exam with nearly the same scenario as this one was but a baby's rattle compared to the present expedition. Everyone sighed.  
  
"At least when *I'm* a fish," added Gon, letting spots of sunlight filtered by the thatched hut roof play over his face, "I don't have to worry about being *clean* all the time."  
  
Everybody nodded. It was hard to agree with the illusions of the twelve- year-old, since, of course, they were in a strange place of strange origin and who knows whatever strange things may squeeze through the cracks anytime. Leorio fanned himself with a banana leaf; Killua and Kurapica played speed-cards with an UNO deck, but the heat dulled wits and all thinking activities needed a good amount of physical squinting. An hour had passed and the game was not even half-done. Kurapica, with razor brains, took five whole minutes finding a pair for his green number two card in his and Killua's dealed deck. In a few minutes, he just wanted to shrivel and fall asleep.  
  
"How many species so far?" croaked Leorio, feeling half-dead.  
  
"Of what? Fish?" queried Gon, rather sleepily.  
  
"Nope. Plants and animals."  
  
They checked the lists.  
  
"Twelve."  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
Kurapica fumbled in his mind for words. "And how many species all in all did the Hunter Association said there were here?"  
  
Again, they checked the lists.  
  
"A hundred and seventy-two."  
  
They stared at each other again.  
  
"How long have we been here?"  
  
They checked the tattered calendar hanging listlessly on a rattan wall.  
  
"A month."  
  
There was a moment's silence before Killua broke it. "The heat isn't helping much, is it?"  
  
They stared at Killua.  
  
"I wish I were a fish," Gon informed everyone once more. "In addition, I could *swim* away from this island... and hail a ship and ask for help."  
  
"You can't do that. Fish don't talk," drawled Killua, swatting a yellow-and- black bug from his leg.  
  
"True, true," agreed Kurapica, setting down a card after *much* mental and visual struggle.  
  
"I hadn't had the mind to ask till now, but do enlighten me," said Leorio, directing his question to the boy of flaxen hair. "You're a backlist hunter. What'cha doin' *here*?"  
  
The addressee had shadowed eyes. "Are you, perchance, sending me away?"  
  
"Oh no no no it's just that-"  
  
"I had it in mind to count species of living things for a while. I was dropping I.Q. points back at the lonesome Nostrad mansion."  
  
"Did it help? Counting species, I mean?" It was Gon, face twisted from a mosquito bite on the nose.  
  
"I wish it did. *Really*."  
  
That night, there were drums. The natives in their mountain homes must be celebrating a festival or other. The four occupants of the sole sea-side hut heard the far-off beats like galloping horse hoofs and checked the calendars: it was the fifth of May. In other cultures, the feastday was called Beltane. Right now, little was making sense. They were in a *tropical* zone and therefore its denizens celebrated the seasons in a different fashion. Could it be a rather more esoteric practice the natives were up to, if not for Beltane? The waves churned and they discovered high- tide of a ten-furlong difference than last night. The moon was full and high.  
  
Killua mimicked a werewolf call for effect.  
  
The rest decided to deprive Killua dinner as punishment for his mockery towards the gathering uphill.  
  
"Perhaps you've heard of these kinds of drums?" Leorio asked the scholarly Kurapica hopefully. It was more of a plea than a simple, casual statement.  
  
"Sorry, no. No books published, no scrolls kept about this place."  
  
"And that may have been because-"  
  
"Because we may be the first ones who may have seriously considered anchoring ourselves upon these foreign grounds. Hey, look at that. Now I *can* think."  
  
The drums rolled on. The evenings compromised scorching daytimes. Screws ceased melting in their heads and kept their cognitive skills in place.  
  
"Up for a stroll?" offered Gon, in unusually good spirits.  
  
"No, thanks," replied Leorio. He was giving himself a night-time shave with the aid of a wick lamp bright enough for him not to miss spots.  
  
"Old man," grumbled Killua. Kurapica grunted in spiteful agreement. Leorio's eyebrows twitched from the insult; other than that, he resumed his shaving. "Come on, Gon." The three boys began their descent from the hut.  
  
The drums pounded from afar, so did the seas and the winds on trees.  
  
"Weather's nippy tonight, eh?" observed Killua. Three pairs of footprints marked the damp sand. Kurapica held another lamp from the supplies and with the rate of the winds assaulting the perimeter, the flame coughed, but gratefully held. "Maybe," added the boy of silver hair, "we'll be expectin' rain tomorrow."  
  
"Which reminds me," said Kurapica. He tapped Gon's shoulder. "It's a curiously pointless question, really."  
  
"Okay, shoot!"  
  
"Would you still wish to be a fish even if we get rainfall tomorrow?"  
  
"I guess there's no harm if I said, 'yes'?"  
  
And then, the drums ceased.  
  
From where Leorio stood, taking down dry laundry from the lines hanging out the windows, he formulated the sounds of little boys' harsh, lingering screams from a distance and nearly strung himself on the wires. Before he realized any more omens, Killua was frantically pounding up the stairs.  
  
"Wha-"  
  
"A bottle! A bowl! *Anything*!" The boy swished and tumbled things here and there, rummaging in the luggage and turning bedrolls over. Finally, he caught sight of an empty juice bottle, about nine inches high with a five- inch diameter, scrambled for it and rushed down the bamboo steps. Leorio quizzically studied the scene before him: a little silver-haired boy bathed by moonlight beside the roaring waves threatening to grab him by the ankles racing towards a single silhouette a little far away, certainly belonging to one of the two kids left on the shore.  
  
Just a moment, thought Leorio. Let me check the picture-  
  
There were *two* figures who raced back to the hut. One was Killua. The other was Kurapica. Wait a minute, mused Leorio, feeling rigid with approaching consternation. Where was-  
  
"Gon!" cried the two remaining boys, high-pitched, befuddled, and frightened out of their skins. Killua held up the glass bottle he snatched from the hut's recesses earlier now filled with foggy seawater until it nearly caused an accident on Leorio's nose. "It's GON, see? Look! It's Gon! It's Gon!!"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"IN THE BOTTLE YOU FRIGGIN' IDIOT!!!" yelled Kurapica, an assault to Leorio's bearing powerful enough to send the man tripping on his own toes.  
  
Leorio froze.  
  
"What the *bloody*--" He looked into the bottle.  
  
In the bottle was a little gray fish with bright yellow spots. It swam as though it was swimming for the first time in its life, all lopsided, with the fins rowing the water in the wrong angles.  
  
In the gloom, Leorio's scream sounded like a woman's.  
  
There came a stream of curses from his blue-mottled lips. "FISH!" he cried. There was a general run of panic. "He's turned into a *fish* for the love of me!!!! A *FISH*!!!!!!"  
  
***  
  
Killua tapped the bottle. "Gon? Can you hear me?"  
  
It was six o' clock in the morning and the weather had not changed from yesterday's. The heat stuck to their skin like leeches.  
  
The fish that was once the human boy Gon swam in a circular swerve. His poor friend was a helpless mass and Killua was close to tears.  
  
"Are you sure it's *Gon*?" inquired Leoio once more, for nearly about the twenty-sixth time, since the incident last night. None had gotten any sleep, and the folds around their eyes sported dark circles. "It could have been some silly prank, you know Gon-"  
  
"It's *I* who play silly pranks, not Gon!" It was Killua, verily upset.  
  
"We *saw* it happen, you dolt," Kurapica confirmed sourly, as nearly as upset as Killua was. "When the drums stopped beating, Gon just *shrank*, see-metamorphosed, if you may call it-and there he was, flapping on the sand. A fish!"  
  
"Well, he did wish he were a fish." Leorio was in a very muddled state, feeling as though the rational world had forsaken him entirely. Which, in his more-or-less educated opinion, was the case. He pounded his head once in a while, checking himself for any signs of being in the dream stage.  
  
The conglomerated silences from each individual made the tension all the more inevitable. Killua was bravely trying to suppress sobs, for the sake of his friend. The fish showed no emotion of any sort. Whatever Gon had in mind at that moment was a unmistakable mystery to all, to everyone's great loss. The silence was killed by another series of taps on glass. "Gon, can you talk? Please?"  
  
"Killua, stop tapping. You'll aggravate him," was Kurapica's mild chiding. "Any fish wouldn't want its aquarium disturbed." He faltered at the "aquarium" part and instantly felt sorry for his little friend's makeshift abode.  
  
"But if Gon can talk, no harm finding out..." In a ridiculous vain attempt to find answers to his hypothesis, Killua stuck his ear into the bottle's opening. "A word, *any* word, for the love of god!"  
  
"Do you think *sorcery's* about?" Kurapica thought aloud, searching for some means of consolation by executing a feat of mental stimulation. "We do know *very* little of these islands' natives."  
  
"Well, there's the drums," added Leorio in a muffled, tired voice. "And the rituals, and all."  
  
"For all we know, it may have been a wish-granting ceremony. And it just so happens Gon wished-" He paused, and stood, paralyzed, like a block of ice. It had been a courageous attempt when he finished, "-because of me."  
  
"What? Why? How?" Leorio's brain, whatever was left of it, was struggling to keep itself intact.  
  
"Aaaaghh!" Killua howled, with a glare ready to strike the ochre-haired boy down. "I *remember*! You asked a stupid circumstantial question! Guilty!! Guilty as charged!!!"  
  
"I hadn't known *this* would happen!" Kurapica bellowed, defending himself. His will wanted to profess calmly, but his nerves stated otherwise. "If it's sorcery about-"  
  
"Then we have to pack someday soon," said Leorio in a crestfallen pitch. He looked at the unfinished checklist and balked.  
  
"What? And leave Gon as a *fish*?! Are you BRAIN-DEAD?!"  
  
The day hung about, and none had yielded to a single feasible explanation whatsoever, yet.  
  
***  
  
Kurapica sighed discontentedly at Gon's "fishbottle." There was little room for the poor fish to swim about, and Kurapica had to direct his friend every now and then with a flesh-colored finger-point pressed against the glass to warn Gon and keep himself from bumping against it. "At least you understand my good intentions." He looked about. Leorio and Killua had decided that they pay the natives a visit, and Kurapica had been under protest of being the one left behind. Under Killua's cold glare Kurapica relented, and felt like a sulking piece of blob ever since the two left. Right at this moment, his poor country-bred friend entrusted his life to Kurapica's sanity, which began to waver the moment he spoke to the fish- that-once-was-Gon.  
  
"Hey there," he greeted the fish. The fish stared back at him with its round fishy eyes that never blinked.  
  
"What would you like to eat?" he asked the fish again. Kurapica felt that he would burst in screams soon. After a moment's silence, Kurapica exclaimed in sing-song, "There was once an old woman who lived in a shoe-" Nursery rhymes did *not* help.  
  
Old woman = fish-Gon  
  
Shoe = fishbottle  
  
"Stop it!" Kurapica reprimanded his imagination. A small bit of his divided attention graced the fish, and, collecting himself began another trial of conversation.  
  
"Uh, Gon, are you sure this isn't *karma*?" he asked, with subtle hints of fear in his voice. "After all, you do *own* a *fishing* rod..." Tap. Tap. Tap. In his boredom he forgot to carry out his own advice. The fish shook and swam about in its very pitiful manner once more. "Oh, sorry," Kurapica apologized. "Let's see now, I'm counting sheep... Are you sure you'd want to have something to eat...? There's rice and eggs and fish... better not enumerate anymore. Hey, I know! Want me to read to you? A tale of a whale- hunter... no, no, won't do..."  
  
The fish-that-once-was-Gon flew in the water listlessly about, clumsily, and slow. Kurapica, with a sigh of decisive recipience, took the fishbottle ever so gently from its perch on the table in the center of the room to another table by the window.  
  
"Plenty of sunlight," Kurapica informed his charge with a taut nod. "I trust you won't dehydrate. Let me teach you how to swim, fish-style." And he did. "One-two, one-two; that's the ticket! Caudal fins in a steady swish- now don't panic-and dorsal fins, in good timing, now-one-two, one-two..." And so on and so forth.  
  
Books did wonders to a young boy's brain. The trivialities of the world and yonder were his unconsciously accounted specialty. Sometimes the boy blurted a very viable sprout of information without knowing it, automatically triggered by his "thinking position," a gracious mannerism of sticking his right thumb to his chin.  
  
"I assume you do understand me, after the swimming lesson," he told the fish, who seemed to offer deep attention to his human friend's erudition "So perhaps more lessons will enlighten you. Now, when I stick a finger up," explained the boy of fair hair, "what you see, according to standards of fish-sight, isn't a *flesh*-colored finger. In fact, what you see isn't even a single finger." The boy cleared his throat, momentarily savoring the bliss of learned youth. "Water separates the spectrum of colors, instead of the single potent ray of white light that goes through the prism that creates the colors the human eyes see." He looked down to find the Gon-fish blowing a bubble upwards, and the bubble popped on the water's surface, quite interestingly. Kurapica continued, as though he were a professor of a well-renowned university with his teaching stick and utterly-groomed skull cap the private educators of the Renaissance wore. "In fact, not all colors are seen as *colors* to the eyes of all species. For instance, say, human eyes, have rods and cones that generate sight that can distinguish color. Animal species, for instance, like wolves, do not have color vision at all. And bats, mind you, don't even use their eyes to see. They use their extensively keen sense of hearing, called sonic hearing, to navigate themselves around. I suppose you must've known some of these?" When the Gon- fish did not respond, Kurapica resumed his tutelage. "And so returning to fish-sight, when I raise my finger and you happen to look at it, you don't see one flesh-colored finger, but *seven* fingers of a color each: one red finger, a yellow one, a green one, and so on, naming the seven colors of the rainbow." He drew a deep breath rather ponderously. "Which half- unwittingly arrives us to the assumption of scarlet being *one* of the most beautiful colors in the world, which are seven; moreover, will it be rash to conclude that since there are basically only seven colors to speak of that pass through the prism, we say that *all* colors are beautiful? Let's say, I take a blue rock, which is, of course, blue; and since blue compromises one of the seven colors, shall we say it is as valuable as the Scarlet Eyes?" If depression was in the boy's tone, and if the puny Gon- fish sensed it, heaven knows. "Which, again, brings us to the point of Kuruta tribesperson-sight, specifically the sight perceived when in the state of tremendous aggravation- that is, when our eyes turn crimson. To illustrate an example: let's say you're an observer perceiving me as a separate individual, a Kuruta tribesperson. And then my eyes turn red and you see it in its actuality, from, as I have mentioned, through the viewpoint of the observer. Let's say I'm the subject; that is, the subject of observation, and as the observer perceives the eyes as having turned red so does the subject see through crimson vision. Am I making myself clear?"  
  
:Ehr thernrrrk sssrrrrrooo: came a reply from somewhere in the atmosphere that startled the boy of xanthous-colored hair.  
  
"Who's that? Intruder!!!"  
  
:Thrrrrrrr'sn't nrrrrr rrrrintrrrdrrr,: replied the arcane inflection; and if one bothered to give the area around the Gon-fish's fishbottle a good scrutiny will arrive to a notion that the source came from somewhere *there*. :Itttttrrrrrr'jssssstrrr mmrrrrreee, Ghhooorrrrn!:  
  
"What? *Gon*? Where?" Kurapica was rather affected a great deal and was beginning to swat sharp objects within reach about. It was not in the usual disposition of our subject to be in a crude state of paranoia, but voices were voices from nowhere and everywhere and he *was* alone with a fish-that- once-was-a-human-boy in a strange place of strange origin. "Who speaks? Unveil yourself!"  
  
The Gon-fish *popped* from its residential bottle. Kurapica gasped.  
  
"Did you *talk*?" the boy cried incredulously, half-overjoyed and *very* bewildered. "DID YOU JUST *TALK*?!?!"  
  
The Gon-fish did another vertical dive from the fishbottle. :Yyyyyyrrrreeesssrrr!!!:  
  
"AAAAaaaaaacckkk!" intoned a snappingly anxious Kurapica. "What do you think you're *doing*?! Stop jumping out of your fishbottle! Stay inside! You'll catch your death! Why, if I myself wished I were a fish, right at this very moment, I'll-"  
  
Silence reigned.  
  
***  
  
"He was a nice man, really," remarked Killua, referring to the tribal chief whom they had visited; and he spoke with his older friend, who looked unconvinced. In his present state of being, Leorio was a misanthropical creature with the characteristic directed to the islands' natives. "Smoked mint-leaf, nothing serious," continued the little Zoldick. "Who would've thought that the rituals' incantations invoked demigods who grant wishes about in this particular season? Exotic, very. And in a span of two days! Imagine! Having everything you've ever wanted being granted for two days."  
  
"So I reckon Gon will be human again after two days pass," Leorio hiccoughed, grudgingly. His sunglasses slid partly on his nose, as usual.  
  
"Or maybe we can wish Gon back to his human form," Killua noted, with airs.  
  
"Fancy that. I feel much better already." Insects buzzed in their ears which proved Leorio's gleeful expression false indeed. The two travelers swatted the miniscule winged nuisances away. The insect bites which infested their open skin stung under the glaring heat.  
  
The walk downhill was quicker than the climb upwards. The hut appeared like a roach from where they were. "I wonder what's happened. It seemed awfully quiet down there. D'ya think Kurapica cooked lunch?"  
  
"Hhmmmm..."  
  
***  
  
There was no Kurapica lurking about *anywhere* within and without the hut's premises. There were palm tree shadows and cloud shadows, but no Kurapica shadow. The fishbottle-shadow was there, though, on a new spot by the window, where the actual fishbottle was. And inside the fishbottle was the Gon-fish.  
  
It was whirling in the water like a yellow-spotted cyclone.  
  
"Hey, Gon! Whatcha doin? Is that your idea of fun?" Killua called, fascinated. But the fish did not cease its disturbing behavior. In the final occasion, it *leaped* from its bottle; and to Killua's and Leorio's dismay, the fish failed to return to the bottle-rather, it floated in the air a couple of seconds before it continually slid to the floor in a frenzied flapping heap.  
  
"Ey! EY!!!! What the-!!!!" In instantaneous rushes of adrenaline, the boy and the young man dove for the fish with superhuman speed and succeeded in cupping the poor devastated creature in a pair of palms. Leorio's palms were attached to longer arms and he triumphed at the operation-save-Gon project. Even as the man, almost feeling very good-humoured indeed after saving his dear little friend's life stood in his full height and returned the fish to its home properly, Killua remained a besieged bundle crouched on the floor. From Leorio's vantage point he could see that his little human friend was undergoing an attack of paralysis. The boy had eyes as wide as dinner plates and he looked more than stunned-the kid was *petrified.*  
  
"Ey, Killua, mebbe ya's wanna get up now..."  
  
And then, from the little boy's lungs, erupted a bloodcurdling shriek.  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaagggghhhh!!!! NNNNOOOOoooooo!!!" Killua seemingly plucked something from the hut floor in a gesture of panic and utter horror. He presented his discovery to his taller companion with hands that shook like brittle twigs in a gale. Wide-eyed himself, Leorio bent over for a look.  
  
"It's a fish," observed Leorio. "It looks dead."  
  
"IT'S KURAPICA!!!!!!" wailed Killua, bursting afresh. He felt faint.  
  
Leorio stiffened. "No, it isn't! It's a fish!!!!"  
  
"It's Kurapica, I'm telling you!!!"  
  
"It's a fish!!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"NO!!!!"  
  
"YES!!!"  
  
"Damn it all!!!" shrieked the little Zoldick once more, and made a mad dash for the fishbottle. In an infuriated attempt, he dropped his find into the water.  
  
The fish stiffly floated upside-down.  
  
The two companions felt their world shatter.  
  
"NOOOooooo!!!" yelled Killua, shaking the bottle. The water was in a whirlpool-ish fit and the Gon-fish fought to keep its balance. But the supposed Kurapica-fish remained a prostrate article half-submerged from the brim. "Wake up!!! Wake up, stupid fish, wake up!!!"  
  
The supposed Kurapica-fish flinched not one bit. The fins were still, the gills produced no flapping movements-the scaly little body held no spark of life. Killua exploded into tears.  
  
"He's turned into a fish himself, he has," he sobbed. "And the gods know how long he's been unassisted on the ground! Without water! In this heat! It must've been *painful*!"  
  
"Wait, wait," Leorio stuttered, in a near-swoon. "How can we be sure that the fish is indeed... Kurapica?"  
  
"Gon told us!!! He jumped out of the water to catch our attention and direct it on Kurapica!! Now look! Look!!" Killua hugged the fishbottle close. The supposed Kurapica-fish appeared to be but a bit of forlornly floating debris. The Gon-fish was nudging the other bottle's occupant's procumbent form with its tiny fish-snout, rather very mournfully and affectionately.  
  
Leorio was soon experiencing the sniffles himself. "He was," declared he, quite valiantly, "he was a noble friend. A great friend. A very dearest friend of friends who will forever remain in our-"  
  
"Oh shut up, you dimwit, and listen to me!" It was Killua, in a highly grotesque process of sudden recovery. "Help me, don't you? Quick!!!"  
  
"Help you with what?" Leorio's voice was scratched from a short bout of bawling.  
  
"Wish Kurapica back! By all that's Holy, it *has* to work!" Killua wept, "It has to, or I *will* wish myself into a *turd*!!!"  
  
"You ain't gonna do nothing of the sort!" yipped Leorio, with new determination. He had a shaman's countenance at that moment. "Here," he offered gravely. "Hold my hand."  
  
"What?! No way!"  
  
Leorio glared at his young companion with important dead-serious airs. "It's like the usual, see. People hold hands to connect energy and direct it to an intended being. Now hold-my-hand!!"  
  
Dreadfully unbelievable sparks of hope ignited in the heart of the grief- stricken youngster. "A-Are you really sure 'bout them myths? About the channelin' energy and all?"  
  
"Well, what have we here?" roared Leorio, sensing great dubiety in his young friend and finding it quite unpleasant and incommodious. "*You* believed that Gon was catching our attention for Kurapica! And they ain't myths! It's what the old Zen masters had figured out on Nen a long long time ago!"  
  
To muster fine threads of subjugation for his intentions of wishing his dear friend back to life, Killua snatched Leorio's hand in a brute fashion unlikely for a twelve-year-old to have done. "Okay, Zen master," croaked the boy, slit-eyed with burning challenge. "Be one with the freakin' Universe."  
  
Then the pair chanted, eyes shut tight with apprehensive faith, stringing "break-a-leg" gestures at the back of their minds: "We wish Kurapica back!"  
  
They waited in painfully ringing patience for archetypal bolts of lightning, or terrifying portents, or a hideous splash from an angry sea, or *any* sign at all that their wish had been granted. There was none. The pair languidly opened their eyes, throats tight, breaths harnessed, and lifted their gazes to the fishbottle.  
  
The Kurapica-fish was in its same position as it had been the last time they saw it. The Gon-fish, however, was in its least festive mood, and its head was stooped and its scales were emanating a very dull glow. If fish wept tears, the Gon-fish would have had.  
  
Black despondency blanketed the wish-full human pair. "Maybe," announced Killua, trembling with obstinate resolution, "maybe we just said the words all wrong. Maybe we should re-word our wish."  
  
"You're right," agreed Leorio blindly, misty-eyed but jaw set in a grimly stubborn stance. "Wishing someone 'back' rather has an incomplete thought."  
  
So at once they repeated their wishing ritual but this time, they had hauntingly placed their projective hands-in Killua's and Leorio's case, their right hands (which twisted their positions since they had to link each other with their left hands)-over the mouth of the fishbottle so that whatever energy would flow out of their palms may rest upon their dear friend's still and scaly demeanor.  
  
"We wish that Kurapica be brought back to life!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"We wish that this fish-that-was-once-Kurapica be brought back to life!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"OH JUST PLEASE LIVE KURAPICA!!! WE'LL BE REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD WE PROMISE-!!!"  
  
A gentle breeze. Palm trees waving. Sea waves hitting shore. But these were not really omens of good engagement. They were just empty natural events fulfilling their cycles and the Kurapica-fish was still a lifeless Kurapica- fish.  
  
"Are you sure that fish is Kurapica?" muttered Leorio, ruining the holy atmospheric tension. "We should have gotten reactions by now."  
  
"Yes, it is! Inasmuch as I'm not inclined to accept the fact myself, a fact's a fact and we must face its factuality factually. So you can sulk there or whatever, you mangy coward, while I-I-I'm still wishing Kurapica back!! You hear me?! *I* wish Kurapica back!!!"  
  
Suddenly, coming from the fishbottle was a tumultuous rolling sound of water. It was particularly a very nerve-racking sound after hearing other different levels of silence. Instantly attracted by the diversion, Killua turned his head to face the fishbottle.  
  
Within the bottle, with fins flapping quite clumsily like a pilot crying "Mayday" but then recovering, was the Kurapica-fish; its scales were a lovely periwinkle with onyx bands and its gills undulated with beautiful vigor and altogether the signs of revival had veritably made the Kurapica- fish an exceedingly handsome fish. Alive!!! The Kurapica-fish lives!  
  
Gasps of overflowing exultation filled the hut's expanse. Killua scrambled for the fishbottle, gripped it with intimate happiness and held it high. The Kurapica-fish gracefully floated about, with the Gon-fish smothering upon the former friendly collisions of inexorable cheer. "You're alive! You're alive!" rejoiced the silver-haired youngling, and clutched the fishbottle close to his chest. "See Gon! I did it! I wished him back to life, see? Isn't it *cool*?"  
  
***  
  
The old tribal chieftain had a very starchy countenance. Unlike the well- pictured concept of isolated tribes in unknown lands of having to possess shiny bronze skin or of a powerful powdered black with tattoos and other numerous, angry markings on their faces and bodies as though they feared any space in between, and treated skin-ink like a sort of armour and spoke gibberish with the English subtitles scrolled below the movie screens of our world, the people composing the islands' tribes were as white as the sun-gleam itself, with pale coral eyes and terra cotta hair. Their bodies were free of painted inscriptions and instead wore garments woven so wispy- like as to reveal the nakedness underneath-that was for the men. For a change to produce a show of decency (which may bring an unwholesome blow to our dear Kuruta youngster of good breeding-praise be! he lives!-if the prospect was presented otherwise), they wore thick layers of loincloth. The women and young maidens wore a single layer of cotton-like material and their manner of wearing clothes sewn from it was garnished with a conservative stitch-they wore the cloth about their heads, like veils, in gowns of the ancient Greek fashion. To recall, of course, for a small backdrop, the Kuruta were also tribespeople. Imagine the culture of the said tribe forever lost if not for the sharp wits of our dear Kurapica- praise be, he lives. Unwillingly he kept a tattered journal with him to write in whenever bits of old Kuruta learning of his earlier childhood would dance on the surface of his mind-  
  
::Revenge, and so on  
  
Death to injustice, something of the sort-  
  
The annihilation of the Genei Ryodan is thine own *magnum opus*, and so forth  
  
Well-defined, sanguinary truculence, prattle prattle...  
  
And best of all, Search and Destroy.::  
  
In one magnificent revolutionary motion swept these belligerent youthful thoughts. But it was the strength-gathering hiatus that led the poor wee lad to pause for a while and count rare species. Oh Toil and Woe.  
  
In the meantime, let us shift our concentration back to the old tribal chieftain. His venerable visage relieved our two human hunters and the two other piscine ones the devastating red tape they had to go through to be able to speak in his presence. He sat on a high cushioned platform like a sultan of the Arabian Nights stories, except the infrastructure wherein the platform was built was molded of the highest architectural standards of medieval France, here in our world. There were bright tangerine fires lit on high swinging lanterns on either side of the platform, and the chieftain was smoking his pipe filled with sweet-smelling mint leaf (rare plant species no. # 7 according to the progress reports) in a very wise and congenial fashion.  
  
"Um, sir-chief, sir-"  
  
"Milord, um, high-o-mighty, mr. chieftain sir-"  
  
The clumsy addresses done by the two young humans were interrupted by a jovial blinking voice.  
  
"Ah," remarked the chieftain, in a grim smile. "It's you two again, from the Outside World." Thank heavens he can speak in the Common Tongue. His subjects sounded like diplomatic Latin/Norwegian/Gaelic students, and it would be eternal pain trying to decipher their language. It was not gibberish, surely; even our dear Kurapica-praise be, he lives-of trenchant levity would be able to analyze and translate in a matter of an I-need- peace-and-quiet-with-my-notes moment's worth. However, the Common Tongue was always convenient. So went on the chieftain: "I see you have brought your *transformed* companions with you." The fishbottle-now replaced by a more spacious fishbowl-was quite prominent in Killua's clutch. The contents of the bowl were compatriots of fine mood, sharing a sense of fellow- feeling as being receptors of the same present fate, and where nudging each other about as though they were in a fit of underwater tag. Killua itched to join-but wishing right now would be a catastrophe as it is.  
  
"Yes, um, sir." Leorio was meekly twiddling thumbs behind his back.  
  
"We'd like to know, um, sir, about the wishing... the wishing thing-how it goes about." The little Zoldick boy was distraught. "You see, when I tried wishing them both back to their human forms, nothing happened."  
  
"I tried wishing-" Leorio began.  
  
"No, you didn't! You were too scared stiff to do so!" Killua lay his counter-attack.  
  
"Well, somebody had better be careful about wishing around!" cried the dark- haired doctor-to-be, face flushed. "I *tried* wishing, all right, but- anyway, that's why we're here. Better consult before making another move."  
  
"Yeah, all right." It was a temporary truce as they were in the presence of the starchy-countenanced and revered tribal chieftain.  
  
"Ah," said the chieftain. "The ceremonial list is long. Allow my head diplomat to assist you." Upon the chieftain's mention of "head diplomat," a tall middle-aged man with a beard and a patterned walk strut into the hall with moist eyes.  
  
"Ehem," began the head diplomat.  
  
"The concept is plain and simple," explained he ("Yeah, right," murmured the silver-haired Zoldick receptively under his breath). "On the fifth of May in every two-score years, the demigods of the Ashminte and Trozkshifu tribes bestow upon the people the power of granting their own wishes. However, this is very, *very* carefully settled upon by each individual since they are only allowed *one* wish for the entire duration of the rituals' grace."  
  
"Aha!" exclaimed Leorio, piecing the chipped mosaic in place.  
  
"Ehem," continued the head diplomat, a tad shaken by Leorio's outburst. "The wishes, moreover, place heavy reliance upon the wishers' statement of self. Otherwise, if the wisher wishes without his or her concept of self while in the wishing process, the wish will backfire, or stray, or not be granted at all. The sense of self is unique in each individual; therefore if a wish with the same intention is called for by *two* or more individuals, then the wish will remain not granted. The mixture of each other's energies only confuses the wishers. As long as these guidelines and requirements are met and the demigods are fully pleased with rituals and offerings on the Eve of May the 5th of every two-score years, then any wish-  
  
*any* wish at all, will be granted, whatever motives are intended. However, after a span of two days, the effects of the wish will fade completely, and all will return to its regular course, and only after the next two-score years will this sacrosanct event happen ever again." He stopped, took a capricious sniff, then turned to the chieftain and bowed. Afterwards, he disappeared behind the hall's pillars once more.  
  
The chieftain was calmly smoking his mint-leaf in quiet honour. "Does that, my young friends, satisfy your rightful inquisitiveness?"  
  
Killua's brows shot up high. "How does the 'sense of self' work in the wishing?"  
  
The chieftain smiled, obviously pleased that the question was brought up. The child was rather very clever, after all. As for the other taller youth beside him-though he showed callow signs of being a newly-sprung adult, he manifested wide-eyed, silent (a *very* good sign) interest, with near unfathomable coinages ticking in his mind. Bless my soul, thought the chieftain. There was hope for this young man, yet.  
  
The rich minty scent from his good pipe smoothed the atmosphere's kinks, making it suitable for a dose of education.  
  
"Let us draw some explanation from the very beginning," explained the chieftain, pensively. "Human beings, as generally known by many are intelligent beings. They are creations dominating all others with their superb cognitive skills, and the awareness of these skills-which form the human consciousness. But a deconstructive notion had been made an option by a famous philosopher, not from this world, I suppose, who had declared to define 'man' as 'a rational *animal*.' You, my boy," he meant Killua. "Wouldst thou treat thy friends differently if they were nought but rational animals, and not intelligent beings?"  
  
"Um, I hope not so," quavered Killua full-mindedly in silent prayer.  
  
"And you," the chieftain turned to Leorio, "I believe, shall display a veritable amount of doubt, and even indifference."  
  
"Well, you see... well, maybe, yeah, maybe."  
  
The chieftain frowned a little, but continued. "As you can see, a human and a *fish* are two *very* different creations, and would have remained a sundered quarry indeed if not for the Oriental-Western Thought which made both creatures astrologically sound (the Zodiac sign Pisces). It just so happened that your two young friends here-" The Gon-fish and Kurapica-fish floated patiently like cherubs singing on a cloud, seemingly mesmerized by the chieftain's learned squabble. "-had randomly picked a fish to turn into, from the lofty point of being human. The sense of self-now, that is rather tricky. You see, would you think that a mere fish would possess a sense of self?"  
  
"Um... I should guess not, sir."  
  
"Well... maybe. Well, maybe not."  
  
"As humans," the chieftain went on, unmoved and unabated, "one has the power to *think*, therefore forming one's own identity. If one has found an identity, either he/she keeps it, or then changes it, whatever s/he pleases. And if one thinks s/he needs to search for one-then s/he does so. The sense of self is what makes a human a more rational being than animals. With the sense of self comes the affirmation of one's existence. And to complete the circle, a person would of course acknowledge his/her existence by referring to the very vital pronoun-the pronoun '*I*'. I-the self-given identity, an egocentric label. Unless a person would want to refer him/herself in third person and state his/her Proper name in all the sentences which were intended to refer to his/her own self, he/she would end up being taken as someone who had referred to someone else who possessed the same Proper name he/she did.  
  
That is just it. When one wishes, one wishes with the "I", for example, "I wish I were this or that. Don't worry, I've already stated my wish so I would not have another wish granted again. So, your fishes could not wish for themselves, even if they were granted another wish. And you there-" the chieftain turned to Leorio. "Why did you doubt about your wish in turning your two friends back to human?"  
  
"I..." Leorio swallowed hard, oppressed by heat and the chieftain's piercing gaze, "I... I..."  
  
"You did not want to be in the stead of *the* Leorio expected to wish his only wish for the sake of his friends."  
  
"Um, well... right."  
  
"Self-centered cad," growled Killua at his taller companion, profile bitter. The latter responded with an acute glare.  
  
"But now, find yourself again, my dear human, and position your sense of self as the 'I' being equivalent to 'friend of the boys-turned-fishes' from the wavering 'he' you had placed yourself in as 'someone who needs the surety to wish for the sake of his friends'. Are you in the mind for it?"  
  
Leorio straightened, eyes glinting with newfound reason. "Yes, sir, very much." His silver-haired companion held suspicious amusement in his expression, almost apologizing for the previous accusation and name- calling.  
  
"Very well," said the chieftain, simply and rightfully importantly. "Now, return to your dwelling, people from the Outside World, and you, my lad, wish your friends back. They have names-use them. That's all the identity they have, for now." Then with a puff of mint-leaf smoke, the old chieftain resumed his meditative pose once more, as his audience had found him when they entered the hall.  
  
***  
  
Phase one: Determining the problem  
  
Two fishes = no  
  
))) )))  
  
Two human boys = yes  
  
:-) :-)  
  
  
  
Phase two: Concentration  
  
Two fishes ))) )))  
  
(into into into into)  
  
Two human boys :-) :-)  
  
  
  
Phase three: The act of Visualization  
  
))) ))) -------- :-) :-)  
  
  
  
Phase four: Actualization  
  
*I*  
  
wish  
  
First boy = Gon  
  
Second boy = Kurapica  
  
be  
  
Humanhumanhumanhumanhuman  
  
***  
  
It was a lengthy process. The boys' watches had good batteries and their luminecsent tiny green screens marked a 3:15 pm and the watches were true to their word. At this point of day the sun was enjoying its moment of paramount glory, and the seas boiled, the sands blinked ferociously like dangerous miniscule shards of mirrors, while the winds forsook the trees and the latter group were as still as leafy bears hibernating. Our dear wisher was suffering the effects of the aforementioned illustrations.  
  
And we must also take into mind the crowd of unsatisfied entities who have chosen to change their manner of existence as they took advantage of their demigod-given gift of self-wishing. There were some species of plants and trees, delicately rare (but not in the lists yet) which suddenly sported eyes or sprouted stems or branches in the semblance of men's limbs. There was a flock of birds with the ability to screech in a language reminiscent to Aramaic. There were tiny monkeys and snakes and boars which, despite their physical and supposedly instinctual differences, mingled in societal gatherings with squeaks and hisses and grunts of apt conversation as though they were comparing cheerful notes. These beasts may have lost their sense of self, but they do have a drop of human essence still abiding in them, and not meet the standard laws of pure animalistic nature; for instance, that they must be *inherently* aware that the eagle eats the mouse, and that a snake may chew off a boar's tail. The commotion these creatures orchestrated which surrounded the hut was most distracting.  
  
The tribes should only be grateful that they cared less for outside affairs, lest someone did and enveloped the world in trembling rupture of world conquest. There were a few, though, who walked around the islands in the forms of very handsome young men with a charming damsel or two floating dreamily at their sides. Guess what these formerly unfortunate beings wished for.  
  
"How did you exactly wish Kurapica back to life on your own?" It was Leorio, abused by the relentless humidity, streaked with sweat and half- delirious with thoughts of failure. In nine hours' time, the "spell" would break, anyway. His two young friends will transform back to their human selves, and all will be well and happy, and they would continue their mission of counting species then report to the Association with a job well- done. Well, perhaps he may even wish for *that* at this very moment; only after nine hours have passed and the second day is over-what of that, then? The diagram which our dear doctor-to-be had organized (see above) to guide his willy-nilly mind seemed like a strenuous undertaking. But he must not fail. What if the duration ended and his friends never changed back? Leorio shivered quite thoroughly with that round of pessimism.  
  
"Well, I'm Kurapica's buddy. And he's one of the few real pals I've got. I've got to be selfish, see, to wish for it. I was thinking: Kurapica can't die, or I'll lose friends and I won't like that, something to that effect, you know. But of course," the little Zoldick took airs, "I was selfish for a good cause."  
  
"Right." Leorio pondered: I must be selfish enough. Let's see... oh! oh! The blonde kid can help him with his medical studies! You know, he may run diplomatic errands such as make memorable outlines of cells and tissues and organs and their functions and so forth for him, and he'd certainly get higher marks. And that sweet little child, the fish-pole wielder, the hero- worshipper. Yeah, that sweet little one. Very contagious sweetness. Almost got himself a woman by imitating the sweet kid's example. A good-hearted young fellow, mind you. Ask him to go around a mountain for a can of soda and the child will gladly do it for you. Harrumph. *That's* selfish enough. And user-friendly too. Leorio grumbled. Better than nothing.  
  
Casting the diagram (see above) in front him and closing his eyes, Leorio waved his mental wand and spouted the magical words: "I wish Gon and Kurapica back into their human selves!"  
  
He said it quite forcefully, with a victorious cackle. There was a sound of a breaking fishbowl nearby.  
  
***  
  
"You were dead, you know."  
  
"I was?"  
  
"Yes you were!"  
  
"I was?"  
  
"You *died*!!"  
  
"I did?"  
  
"It's no use," Killua Zoldick proclaimed, rather inconsolably. "They don't remember much of anything right after they turned into fishies."  
  
"Then the notes I've gotten in Zoology are true," Leorio mumbled, in prideful agreement with his hideously plausible studious self. "Some fishes have a three-second memory span. No wonder they don't get bored of living in the same old aquarium for *years*. Ey, Gon, that's two birds in one stone!"  
  
"Say what, please?"  
  
"Yeah, that'cha get all'em clean and un-bored at the same time by bein' fishy! Brilliant, you know. Very."  
  
"Um. Thanks," said the little dark-haired boy, uncertain whether to feel pleased or baffled.  
  
"So, I guess you probably don't remember the time you *talked*, do you?" inquired the young Kuruta, addressing Gon, still mildly mystified by the part of being dead, quite.  
  
"I *talked*?"  
  
"Well, see? That's that."  
  
"No really, I *talked*?"  
  
"It won't really make much of a difference even if I said 'yes' a trillion times."  
  
"Well, all right."  
  
"Say, Kurapica, what made ya want t'be a *fish*?"  
  
"Well, I was rather in a hurry to give Gon some fish-lessons, and I thought that a faster method of doing so was to become a fish myself."  
  
"Did it help?"  
  
"I don't remember."  
  
"Well, you did die first, you know."  
  
"Are you *foreshadowing*, pseudo-sage?"  
  
Merry chatter followed soon.  
  
"We used the Gatorade bottle to house you."  
  
"You don't say."  
  
"And then, there was the tribal chieftain, like, who told us about 'sense of self' and all that rattle."  
  
"Interestin'."  
  
"We haven't had a decent bath for a week."  
  
"That's not hygienic at all..."  
  
"Shall we ask the tribes for a raindance?"  
  
"Do you think so?"  
  
"Well, we *did* fall under their cultural vicinity of the wishing ritual."  
  
"A raindance?"  
  
"Interestin'."  
  
"How many species left?"  
  
"Let's see... A hunnert-an' sixty."  
  
"What about the raindance?"  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
"I dunno, what do you think?"  
  
"I dunno, after all we've been through..."  
  
"Let's take a vote."  
  
"Gee, I'm hungry..."  
  
  
  
----Fin----  
  
Author's Notes: Gee, this fic was pointless. A series of unfortunate events, as you may call it. A Harry Potter rip-off, some might think. I'm eccentric; that's all. You've no idea. I notice things like, if you wanna remember Kurapica's birthday, all you have to do is know his number in the hunter exam. Or is that a widespread bit of knowledge already? I've no clue. Anyways, blah blah blah...  
  
Oh, and the famous philosopher of our world who said that "Man is a rational animal" or "political animal" in some books is the Greek philosopher Aristotle. Hehe, does anyone care? =P  
  
Tootles.  
  
DW-chan:-)  
  
  
  
[[In loving dedication to dear Voltzi-Voltimort and the fish in the SJ walk pond blissfully singing "Your Song." Too bad the scaly creature got fried (with matching rice and eggs). In other versions, I heard the singing flying (!) fish resided in the Sports Complex swimming pool. The cyborg fish was programmed to sing "Your Song" for all eternity. =P]] 


End file.
